Joorkiin
by Kravor
Summary: Foretold by the Scrolls, the End of Times has begun. Nightmarish creatures lost to history and myth return, and the dead march on the warpath led by the Fallen Son. Few believe it, and even fewer can fight it. This is the story of those that do.


She chewed on her lip as she sifted through the sheets of parchment, brow scrunched in confusion. The lettering was certainly of the ancient Nords, but so far her translation seemed more like gibberish than anything else. This word – more of a pictograph, really – had three different meanings depending on the context of the sentence. The difficulty was determining whether 'shadow', 'darkness', or 'lack of light' fit the context the most, but to figure that out she had to translate the rest of the words and piece it into something that might make sense.

The possible combinations were beginning to make her head hurt, which was only exacerbated every time the musty air of the crypt caused her to sneeze. If only the Divines had given those wretched humans some proper ventilation.

In their defense, they probably hadn't foreseen their tombs invaded by enthusiastic Mages-in-training a thousand years after they'd been built.

Clearly evidenced by the traps liberally scattered in the catacombs, but Master Argus had led many expeditions in his time and had been able to easily guide them through safely. Without him, well…

She sighed and consciously brought her thoughts back to the matter at hand. The piece of parchment clutched in her hands could have been laughing at her with how it was the current the bane of her existence. While nothing more than a charcoal rubbing over the original wall carving, she'd hoped to find a quiet corner to get a head start on her translations before the journey back to the College. Said hope was more than a bit strained at this point, and she was beginning to wonder if she even had the right reference list with her.

She was certain _lands consumed_ was a mistranslation, of course. After all, in what context did that even make sense?

Nevertheless, she dutifully scribbled out a note in her journal to check the Library about references to a _lands consumed_. Leave no stone unturned, the Arch-Mage always said.

With a frustrated huff, she gathered up the rubbings and stuffed them into her satchel a bit more brusquely than she meant to. Ancient Nordic studies always left her frustrated at some point, and who could blame her? It's not like they were _her_ ancestors who buried everything in smelly old crypts all over Skyrim.

Rising to her feet from the - bed? Bench? Low table? – she'd been sitting on, she groaned slightly as she stretched and adjusted the rough robes given to all Apprentice-Mages. The soft pops of her joints were the only sound breaking the silence around her, and she frowned as the realization hit her. She could no longer hear the rest of the group. Had they moved on without her?

Cursing under her breath, she hurried out of the small side room she'd sequestered herself in and looked around. They rest of the class had been dutifully examining a series of crude mosaics set into a nearby wall. Something about a dragon man, or something equally ridiculous. She'd tuned out that nonsense and sought a quiet corner to work for a few moments.

If she recalled correctly, Master Argus had said this tomb was built in a concentric manner, with multiple tiers of… something. Unfortunately, that didn't really help as all she could see was a long hallway that curved off to her left, where she'd come from, but also curved off to her right.

She cursed again; this time louder. It's not like anyone was nearby to hear, and if they were that would solve her problem, wouldn't it?

She really should have stayed with the group. Master Argus had made a point of that before they had entered. Perhaps she should have played more attention to that. Well, perhaps she'd apologize if – when – she rejoined the others.

With that in mind, she set off to the left with her eyes and ears open for any sign of her class.

She quickly lost count of the rooms she passed, small chambers that branched off from the corridor that were packed floor-to-ceiling with stone sarcophagi. They looked almost like storage rooms, but who would store bodies in their tomb? Perhaps some ancient warlord? Or more likely they were filled with valuables.

She really should have done more studying before this trip, but, well, she was so excited about finally being able to leave the College and its stuffy teachers for a bit.

Well, she'd be more prepared next time.

A soft noise draws her out of her musing, and she pauses, slowly looking around. Her pointed ears hear nothing for several moments, and she almost dismisses it as a product of her imagination when she hears it again. It sounds almost like a cat scratching at a wooden door, only more distant. Curiosity piqued, she carefully followed the sound up a large hallway.

The walls flanking stairs leading up were covered in rotted tapestries and engravings of ancient words and scenes. She ordinarily would have stopped to sketch them, but settled for quick notes as she moved upward, the odd noise growing in volume. It sounds like something is tearing now, as if someone is around the corner cutting at a length of fabric with a dull knife.

The stairway terminates at a set of heavy iron doors covered in ancient engravings. None made sense to her in that moment, and she was distracted from that line of thought by a gust of chilly wind tickling he ankles. Looking down, she could see harsh white light emerging from the space between the doors and the stone floor. Odd, to feel a cold breeze underground. Unless there was an opening, a way out, perhaps?

She eagerly pushed at one of the doors, which opened surprisingly easy. Stepping through the portal revealed her to be in a large chamber that widened to her left and right, stretching perhaps three-hundred feet forward and sixty feet above. A massive space, ringed by large pillars and a near-sea of dark sarcophagi spread in neat rows on either side of a large, faded carpet snaking its way through the center of the chamber.

She stepped forward, onto the dirty fabric – Perhaps it had once been red? – and squinted at the far end of the chamber. The last fifty feet were raised in a large dais, with a single sarcophagus waiting at the foot of it. The farthest wall itself seemed not to be stone, like the rest of the crypt, but an off-white material where the sound was coming from. Odd light seemed to emit from the wall, and the chamber grew noticeably colder the closer she approached.

She noted dirty, fraying banners as she passed, all depicting some kind of serpent. Another note in her journal, and something else to study in the future.

She jumps when the scratching, tearing sound suddenly changes to a deafening crack, and a section of the far wall suddenly falls off to splinter to pieces on the stone floor. Ice, she realizes, even as she sense movement behind the ice and ducks behind a pillar. She can only watch with wide eyes and open journal as more ice falls away and something is revealed.

Something like dark claws as long as her body punches through the icy wall and tears out a sizable chunk of the ice, widening the hole she can now see leads outside. Abruptly something smashes through the weakened ice, showering the inside of the chamber with a blast of icy shards.

She nearly drops her journal at the sight of the creature now perching on the dais, it's bulk barely contained in the chamber despite its wide space and high ceiling. It looks like a giant serpent, if giant serpents had wings the size of a warship and scales like black, twisted metal. A head larger than two wagons put together sat on the end of its serpentine neck, ending in cruel, twisted horns set behind huge amber eyes.

The reptilian slit of its pupil flitted across the now-exposed chamber, thankfully missing her crouched form, and settled on the single sarcophagus at the foot of the Dias that seemed oddly suited for the creature's size. She could only watch in rapt fascination as it brought it's face level to the sarcophagus and spoke.

Not in words she recognized or comprehended, but some primal part of her understood the raw power in the syllables, and she gasped as the very air quaked with power. Thankfully, her slip went unnoticed, but was quickly forgotten with what happened next.

There was a moment of silence, a pause as if the world was holding its breath, before it was broken by the crash of the sarcophagus opening. Not from the outside, by the serpent, but from the inside. Clawed hands emerged first, digging into the sides of the coffin as their owner hauled themselves up and out of the metal box. The man – for, impossibly, it had to be a man, - rose stiffly to his full height and unintentionally gave her a good look at him.

Faded, fraying robes that looked to be crimson, once, flowed between plates of dark armor that covered him from head to toe. The metal of the armor was painted with innumerable engravings that she at first mistook for scuff marks, and he seemed to be wearing a mask of sorts. A tall, dark staff, almost as tall as its wielder, was held in one hand, butt resting on the stone floor.

Without a word the figure dropped to one knee before the great beast, left arm clasped to his chest in a fist and right arm holding his staff horizontally on the floor.

A salute. A bow. A servant before its master. Words were exchanged between the two, but these were normal words, a communication between two beings. Not recognizing the tongue, she took the time to furiously write down as much as she could about what she was witnessing, careful not to make too much noise.

She pauses when the man rose to his feet again and turned, giving her a clear view of his face. Or she would have, had he not been wearing a mask. As dark as his armor, it held the vague outline of a human face save for a pair of large tusks curving out of the corners of its 'mouth'.

"**_Alok-Gro-Kendov_**!" it suddenly barked, the words echoing unnaturally around the chamber as he slammed the butt of his staff on the floor. A wave of bluish energy washed over the floor from the staff, passing through the sarcophagi throughout the room before fading away.

The words had only just faded away as the first sarcophagus opened, again from the inside. It was quickly followed by others, until every occupant had climbed out of their coffin to stand beside it, in neat rows. These ones lacked the faded robes of the first but were adorned in similar looking dark armor that covered them completely. They held a variety of weapons: axes, swords, spears, greatswords, shields, and more. Yet, the most distinguishing feature was their helms – slightly elongated with curved horns sprouting from the back of the head; a clear imitation of the creature that sat above them, watching with keen interest.

_Army_, she scribbles in her book, _undead/reanimated. Serves serpent-creature? Raised by leader – robes, armor, mask; priest? _

She paused and wanted to hit herself for the revelation.

_Dragon_, she wrote, underlining the word several times before she suddenly sneezed.

She froze as silence descended upon the chamber. Or had it already been silent? She didn't dare even peek out to look, hoping that none of the… things had heard. It had been a soft thing, barely noticeable, right?

Her silent pleas prove false when a sudden shadow looms over her, and she can only cry out in surprise as a cold, cold grip seizes the back of her neck. Her journal and charcoal stick lay forgotten as she's roughly dragged forward.

The dead man dragging her makes no sound as he brings her to the center of the carpeted highway and strides down it toward the priest and the black creature. She manages to get her footing underneath her and throws her weight to the side in an effort to unbalance him, but she might as well have been trying to pull a solid wall with how much he was moved.

Desperate, she throws a puff of frost magic at the ground in front of her captor, covering the ground with magical ice. The undead's heavy boots slip on the icy surface well enough, its stumble loosening the grip long enough for her to break free and bolt for the door without hesitation. She doesn't get far as the ranks of dead close in in her, hemming her in like hunters to a fleeing doe.

Desperate, she flings fireballs into the crowd around her, only to watch in disbelief at the way the magic dissipates harmlessly against their armor. Magic-resistant armor? If only she could write that down!

Her egress is abruptly halted as a cold hand wraps around her neck again. Before she can bring a spell to bear, there's a flash and hiss of metal and a sudden coldness in her hands.

A wide-eyed look down reveals the stumps of where her hands had been. She can see them for a moment before she's dragged backward, just sitting on the cold stone floor, slightly curled up and looking so _wrong_.

She's too numb to do anything but stare at where her hands should be before she's suddenly thrown at the feet of the priest. She doesn't even bother to rise, because then she must see it again and the horror of this dream is too much. Yes, a dream, because there's no way this could be real.

The cold, clawed hand seizing the back of her skull and forcing her to look up feels a little too real for a dream, but that doesn't matter because none of this is real. The priest and the serpent – _dragon_, she absently corrects – are looking down at her. The tusked mask of the priest reveals nothing, but the dragon…

Looking into its eye, larger than her torso, she sees only a cold malice tempered by eons. She shudders, but that's not new, she's been shaking since her hands-

The dragon growls something, Words that spike the air between them with the power of creation itself. She feels a tug, deep inside her, and she feels almost relieved because that must mean that this is a dream, and she's waking up now. She almost smiles at the thought, until suddenly everything becomes pain.

She's left gasping as the breath is stolen from her lungs, closely followed by a roiling sense of vertigo that leaves her ears ringing and lungs burning.

Her skin is on fire, a thousand pinpricks across her body when suddenly there's not.

Her body involuntarily shivers in relief, and she opens her eyes. The ceiling seemed suddenly closer, oddly enough.

She looks down, and screams. No sound comes out.

* * *

A/N: I've had this in the works for quite a while, always liking the idea of a more grimdark Elder Scrolls. If you liked it, drop a review; those are great motivation to continue writing.

For those wondering, I haven't abandoned Mage's Ice and Dragon's Fire.

\- Kravor


End file.
